Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

For something conjured up by a heartless, narcissistic King, the ball was beautiful.

The lights were dim, the flickering of many candles spread across the expansive space, embracing the room in a gentle warmth. Music danced across the air in its melody, and bodies swayed with the words, moving in sync.

In the center, a particularly striking pair of woman twirled with grand movements, flashy yet flowing, as if they'd practice. Or so it seemed.

Raphael felt his eyebrow twitch, a dull throb on his feet. "You stepped on my foot again."

"Oh," said the other indifferently. "Sorry."

"Again."

"Hm."

"...Again."

Soren hadn't bothered to reply, allowing his body to become limp and malleable as Raphael struggled to pull him around. The core of this dance was the protagonist, and the puppet was the prince.

The skirts brushed each other in billowing flows as they spun and spun and spun.

"Wait." said Soren as he was twisted around. "Dizzy."

Raphael smiled through his painted lips, eyes curving. "Are you?"

He twirled the other more violently, as if this were not a dance across marble floors but a battle strewn across uneven floors. Soren lurched and felt as if he'd puke from the spinning of his head. If he puked, he decided he'd most definitely do it on Raphael's shoes.

Narrow, irritated blue eyes peered up at Raphael from the blur of movement, and the protagonist chuckled.

"I'll break your foot." threatened Soren as he was tugged again, deciding not to be pliant as he readjusted his posture to avoid being tugged around.

In response to the stiffened body, Raphael's grip around his waist tightened, felt through the bundles of fabric that were annoyingly thin around that area compared to the rest. Soren stiffened even further and frowned.

"What're you doing?"

"Trying not to pathetically fail when we were meant to attract attention instead." said Raphael, somewhat tired from dragging this reluctant weight around with him.

Soren couldn't say much for that and instead responded shamelessly, "Failing is also a method of attracting attention."

"......" That wasn't false.

The song came to a close, and Soren quickly separated as a new melody started playing. Raphael's hand lingered in the air for a moment after the sudden separation, before he sighed and pulled his midnight dress that had gotten ruffled during the moves.

A woman came up to him, delicate and pretty, as her dress flowed like a steady river around her body. Short, brown hair brushed her shoulders and her lips were brilliant red. "My, that was a lovely dance."

Raphael didn't recognize her and smiled politely, elegantly standing taller though his build already towered over. "Thank you."

Her eyes curved, twinkling with a warm mystery that was both enchanting and numbing. "Oh truly, it was astoundingly beautiful. I couldn't bare tear my eyes away."

A tone, sweet and flattering, yet not sickening sweet as it carried traces of intention.

"Flattering." responded Raphael with the same curt politeness. "Your dress is wonderful."

He was lacking on the same complimenting skills, but it was better than the others could do, to say so in the least.

Her smile brightened. "Oh, thank you!"

"Actually," said Raphael in more of a hushed whisper, raven eyes darting around as if nervous. "I'm glad to meet a new friend — I've heard rumours that are awfully terrifying."

"Oh?"

"Rumours of the Haze King... haven't you heard?"

"No," said the woman with an intrigued smile. "I haven't."

"Supposedly," leaned in Raphael as if he were ready to gossip, lowering his eyes as his voice lowered even more. "He's kidnapped children for his own gain, in an attempt to sell them for money. However, it didn't end well... the children were killed, and he's going to try for it again."

"Really?"

"Lydia." a voice said from behind, awkwardly soft as he tried to not be heard by any listening ears.

The woman's eyes curved brightly. "Your highness, it has been such a long time and it's an absolute pleasure to be in your presence again."

Raphael paused, and straightened suddenly. He'd heard of her — Lydia Jones. The infamous merchant who'd gone missing in the past few months. All he was certain of, staring at the attractive lull of her eyes, was that she was dangerous.

After a moment, he realized. "Magic."

Lydia's eyes flickered over. "You're quite sharp, Raphael Han. I suppose that's why my magic isn't as effective on you either, although it would've worked if not for his highness' lovely appearance, I do believe."

Raphael's eyes grew cautious, posture a little tense.

"Where have you been, Lydia?" pressed Soren through fluttering lashes, through glossy lips. Despite his glamorous appearance, his eyes were just as cold.

"Oh, busy. There's much for me to do, although it's a pity I missed your call. But I'm here now, your highness, for whatever you need."

"Busy with what?"

"I cannot reveal my clients' secrets, unfortunately."

Raphael interjected, tone low, "Sorry, but could you help us, Lydia?"

"With what exactly, sir Raphael?"

"Spreading rumours." grinned the man, though his eyes were still searching her like a story that hadn't been read. Suspicious and threatening, as they typically were to strangers. "There's information we'd like to inform people of."

"Perhaps, do you mean the information you shared with me earlier?"

"You're as smart as the rumours, Lydia."

She smiled, but her eyes were just as calculating. "And as are you, sir Raphael."

"So why don't you tell me?" spoke Raphael slowly, dragging his words over the noisy bustle of people. "How you know who I am?"

Her expression didn't falter. "Once again, I am unable to reveal the sources of my information, much as I'd love to share."

"I'll pay you." interrupted Soren cooly, and she tilted her head.

"With pleasure."

"But that's not why you showed up, was it? You didn't show up in order to help us tonight, but for another reason." said Raphael darkly, taking a step closer to Soren with caution. He'd carefully dissected her actions, and knew her type of people well. There was room for a margin of error in his judgement, but he could not risk it.

"As I said, you're quite sharp."

"What is it?"

"Unfortunately, nothing that would benefit you as of this moment." said Lydia in a cheery tone, flickering her eyes to Soren. "I'd expect you were on a lookout, however."

"Damien."

A single word from Soren confirmed every thought.

"There we are. And I'm assuming he's told you what you need to know."

"Answers." said Soren, voice a little strained. Hesitant. Yet melting in overwhelming curiosity.

"Answers." affirmed Lydia. "Why don't we have a chat, your highness? It's been a while since our last. The only question is, do you wish for him to hear?"

Her gaze trailed to Raphael, who narrowed his midnight eyes grimly. "There is absolutely no way I'd leave—"

"No."

Soren's reply hung in the air, and the quiet woman with silky blonde hair lifted their icy stare coldly. "Let's go, Lydia."

"Ren." said Raphael as the prince turned away.

Soren paused.

And for a while there was a silence, as Raphael opened his mouth and closed it again before sighing deeply, running a frustrated hand through the tangles of his wig. "I'll complete our task. Don't take too long. Be careful."

Soren started walking again, and Lydia smiled sympathetically as she followed the other, heels clattering against the floor, echoing in the noisy halls. The sound, so subtle, drummed into Raphael's ears.

He just couldn't help but wonder, and have the inexplicable feeling that this secret, this truth Soren sought, would drag him down with it.

And that this truth may be so terrible that he couldn't predict it.

His stare remained fixated on the disappearing backs that faded with the crowd. Raphael sighed again and turned away.

Soren entered a room around the corner, closing the doors as moonlight streamed into the dark room from beyond the thin curtains that drooped by the windows. It was dusty and cluttered, most likely a storage room.

Fitting at this time, when any location would be reasonable, away from the crowd.

"Speak." said Soren, as the door closed.

"Have patience, your highness. I'll tell you everything you want to know."

"Everything. You know what."

Her lips curved. "About your memories that are returning? It's exactly how you think, your highness. Raphael and you had a relationship, much more complicated than strangers. And the information you wish to know, will only return in steady streams of consciousness."

"...why?"

"The reason you forgot is something you've already guessed. You chose to forget, everything related to him. Although it's a little more complicated than that."

"...how?"

"I'm bound to rules that force me to seal my lips when I most wish to speak." replied Lydia, leaning against a covered sofa in the middle.

Rules.

"You're not human." said Soren suddenly, gears turning in his head.

"I'm not a God, either." smiled Lydia, scanning his face. "I simply know more than I should, and live a little longer than the norm."

"To find the truth, what should I do?"

"Have you decided that the truth is what you truly desire?"

"Yes." The answer was firm. Although there was a tickling fear that lumbered in his stomach, Soren wished to know the truth. No matter what.

"Then keep an eye out for the missing pages of that book in your possession, which you so brilliantly grabbed upon your arrival. Perhaps you should look in the 'Forests', and something interesting may be found."

"Cryptic."

"It's the only way I can tell you." said Lydia with mischievous eyes and a bright smile. "That's the information you need from me — it'll fall into place from there. All you need to do is to keep remembering."

"It's simple."

"Yes, and at the same time, it is fabulously complicated." laughed the woman lightly. "A fair warning though, your highness."

"What?"

The light reflected off her warm eyes, omnious and full of foreboding. It was unsettling, the way the soft smile on her lips remained while a frost spread over her gaze, seeing something that Soren couldn't.

"You soul is merging with the original."

"I know." He'd guessed it from the beginning, from the moment he felt the original's emotions boil in his blood.

Her smile was unchanging. "It'll make you vulnerable, emotional. You'll become the you that should've always existed."

"What does that mean?"

"It's a complication for you, both the merging and the memories which are starting to spill in your mind. If you're not careful," she stood up, the trim of the dress brushing against the floor as her heels echoed. "You'll destroy yourself."

"I won't."

"I'd much rather you didn't as well, your highness." A pause, then she continued, "Your soul, as you may know, is a fragment of a soul tree seed. The only thing that could merge with such a thing is another fragment. Do you know what that means?"

"...no."

"It means you're either fated and bound together by chance, or, he possessed something that only you should."

"Can you answer anything else?" asked Soren when several minutes had passed, steadily absorbing the new-learned information that he didn't quite know what to make of yet.

"That's it, your highness."

"I see. Thank you." He moved to reach out for the doorknob before she stopped him again, door opened and peeking light while he glanced back.

"One last thing. I find, you may find it surprisingly useful to have a conversation with your brothers. For more reason than one."

He breathed, lips drawn into a chilling thin while he tore his eyes away. "Okay."

When his hand curled around the handle, screams rained through the air outside, and he snapped his head up.

"It seems that your exquisite plan has started." said Lydia as the door closed shut in front of her. "I'm certain it'll go well."

Outside, in the halls, was pure chaos. Fire licked the tables, setting them bright in an everlasting flame while dark mist snaked through the floor threateningly, lapping against ankles with promise of destruction.

Only, there was no death from the most compared to the one Soren had felt in the mountains. An illusion, it was, this realistic curving mist that scared so many.

A masked figure in the middle sliced through the crowd, challenging at random with a gruff voice. His hood was securely hiding his features, but Soren thought he might've seen a glimpse of fiery hair underneath.

Metal clattered against marble, shouts bounced against walls, and the beauty of the ball disappeared to leave pure madness.

As Soren moved forward, the dress caught against a broken piece of wood that had flown over from who knows where. He scowled, tugging roughly before his eyes narrowed onto a sword strewn across the floor.

Fingers curled around the hilt, pointing down in a dangerous hold before it pierced through. The fabric was torn into fluttering scraps, leaving a short skirt of what once had been an elegant gown.

He yanked off the wig, tossing it to the ground — though not surprisingly, his original pale hair suited him more perfectly.

'Where's that hippo?'

Somewhere mixed in with the scrambling crowd, no doubt. Then a sudden pull on his arm came, and he was running.

"Come on, little prince!" shouted Raphael over the piercing noise. "I've spread all the rumours, all there's to do is properly give the crowd a show!"

The strong back was displayed before him, tumbling waves of raven flickering before his eyes. The hand on his wrist didn't let go.

Confirmation.

Soren had that now. That this existence known as Raphael Han...

...was likely an irreplaceable one.

"Stop zoning out!" Another tug on his arm to shake him out of his thoughts, as the booming voice seemed so loud compared to all the other sounds. "We need to get to a high area!"

And so, Raphael weaved through the crowd, avoiding the fires which were likely of Brioc's doing, as he ran straight for the towering stairs at the end of the hall. A few curious looks were given their way, but there was too much to look at to focus on such a thing.

The guards tried to ease the chaos while Erlen fought against them in his guise, slamming powerfl swings and violent kicks. For a second, he caught Soren's gaze and seemed to mouth, 'Go!'

They scrambled up the stairs, standing p at the top as Raphael pulled at some papers hidden in his dress. Soren was too tired to question, though his eyes were a little judging.

Raphael noticed, "What? There's nowhere else to hide it, like I said."

"Didn't ask."

"You asked with your eyes, and they're equally harsh."

"....."

During the fray, Raphael had also ripped off the bottom half of his gown in order for easier movement, though his wig stayed firm on his head.

He swung his legs arond over the railing, staring down at the scene below with crinkled papers in his hand. Soren peered down beside him, leaning casually.

To the spectators below, they were arrogant instigators of the chaos, controlling the flow as they leisurely stared down. Raphael's lips curved  as his legs dangled over the railing and he held the papers out.

"Hello citizens of the Haze Kingdom!" roared his voice, like a violent lull, pulling eyes towards him. "Wouldn't you like to know the truth of the King you both fear and love?"

"For some crazy reason." muttered the man under his breath. 

The papers fell from his hand, flowing to the ground like freshly fallen snow admid the flames and darkness. Soren scanned the crowd and saw a familiar pale gold, and a slender hand wave in the air as the papers went from one, to dozens, floating across the air.

It mixed in with the crowd and a chain reactions spread across the sea of people, gasps and whispers blending with the shouts. Shock, horror, disgust, all the expected negative emotions became apparent. 

It was simple, this task. 

If the Haze King lost his power over the people, lost the trust he had built with fear and destruction, then he would become a discarded pawn to the Third Religion. 

Raphael lowered his eyes, gazing at the scene. "No matter what world," muttered the man. "It's the same thing."

Soren listened quietly. 

"That--"

"Well, well, well!" a voice roared, light and playful and full of crazy madness. "Am I late to the party?"

Fluttering pink hair in choppy layers as she dressed in a black gown that was much too inappropriate to be called a saint's outfit, yet carrying all the other traits of one. Wisps of magic floated on her finger tips while her lips were stretched wide in a grin.

"Long time no see, prince." mouthed the woman from across the halls. "Are you finally ready to fight me?"